Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
FBI guys number four, five, and six all stayed back and watched, ready to lend a hand if needed.
“Actually, I’m watering my plants, not interrupting an investigation.” He paused. “But, just sayin’, investigation doesn’t mean arrest. You have to have probable cause for an arrest.”
“There was,” FBI number one disagreed. “This man was harassing a federal agent.”
“When?” Jim asked. “Because, just sayin’, if you say it happened here, it didn’t. Because I have cameras all around this house and in my yard since that motherfucker,” he pointed across the road, “moved in. I think if anyone is going to get arrested, it should be that man for dumping cats. It’s a class A misdemeanor in Texas. For a man that calls himself the ‘law’ he should really be following it.”
Ol’ Jim was right.
It was illegal in Texas and was considered animal cruelty.
Since I’d joined the military, I’d spent a lot of my spare time studying up on the laws, knowing that eventually I’d get out and need to know them if I was going to work with Shasha full-time.
Plus, having a really good memory, I could remember most if not all of them.
Hell, if I really wanted to, I could probably go pass the bar right now.
Speaking of bar…
“And how do you know that?” FBI guy number two asked.
“I’m a lawyer,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “Retired, but still. I could get this one out of a murder charge right now if he decided to fuck you up.”
Again, had I said how much I liked Jim?
“Sir…”
“You’re under arrest,” Chester Brown growled. “Let me see your hands.”
I gave them to him, and he roughly yanked my arms behind my back.
I allowed it, of course, because if ol’ Jim really did have cameras, I wanted to make sure that it looked really good if this went any further.
“Oh, boy,” Jim cooed. “I’m going to represent this man, and when I do, I’m going to have that badge you’ve abused for the last few months.”
FBI agent number one shifted on his feet. “Um, Chester. I don’t know if you know this or not, but you can’t hurt him.”
I rolled my eyes as Chester tightened the cuffs so tight that it started digging into my skin.
I allowed it, though, because I knew I’d be getting some good photos of his abuse later.
Another car pulled up, and Shasha’s lawyer got out of the car, heading toward us with an authoritative stride that demanded attention.
She walked right in between all the FBI agents and stopped with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Hey, Daddy.” She smiled at Jim.
Jim grinned. “Hey, baby girl.”
“Oh, fuck,” I heard one of the mutters start. “That’s Jim Canadew if that’s actually his daughter.”
“Let me introduce myself,” my super scary lawyer said. “My name is Malone Canadew. I’m Jim Canadew’s”—she dipped her chin toward her old man—“daughter. What are the terms of Mr. Semyonov’s arrest?”
“Harassment of a federal agent,” Chester declared, his eyes hard.
“And you have proof of this harassment?” she asked.
“He was at my house, lady,” Chester argued.
“Actually,” Jim interrupted, “he was at my house. He’s parked in front of my house, are you blind?”
Chester’s chest puffed up. “That’s not what was happening and you know it.”
“Prove it, cat hater,” Jim refuted.
Chester rolled his eyes and yanked me forward.
“Did you see what I just did, Daddy?” Malone sounded so pleased.
“Sure did, baby girl.” Jim went back to watering his plants. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
Malone walked back to her car, a fancy sporty number that fit her well.
“What precinct are you taking him to, fellas?” she asked the group of FBI agents.
“None of your business,” Chester muttered.
“Oh, boy.” Jim laughed softly to himself. “This’ll be fun.”
I was driven around a lot, in what I thought might be an attempt to shake my lawyer.
In the end, it didn’t happen, and we ended up in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
My wrists were aching, but I didn’t let on that I was hurting.
This wasn’t a marked vehicle, so I doubted that there would be any cameras in here.
The FBI agent driving me, number two in particular, hastily got off at an exit when he became impatient in the traffic.
“I hate Dallas,” he muttered to his partner.
“Can’t wait until I get to go back to Colorado,” number one admitted.
The agent came to a stop at the light behind a few other cars, then started doing something on his phone.
The light turned green, and traffic started moving again, but the dumbass breaking the law on his phone didn’t notice.
“The light is green. You can go,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.
The cop from the front seat didn’t like that.
“I didn’t ask you for your input, Semyonov.”
I smiled as I saw my lawyer pull up beside us and snapped a few photos of the imbecile on his phone, breaking the law. “No, you sure didn’t.”